THE HISTORY OF THE BEL VOIR HUNT 



Dick Lloyd and Gilmour near I viewed, 

 His Grace of Belvoir struggling nigh ; 



My steed I shook, his pace renewed, 

 And left them all without a sigh. 



I Tredwell^ left, and Cheney neat. 



Lord Grey 2 on horse no longer pulling, 



And Charlie Leslie well nigh beat, 

 And raking, spurting little Bullen. 



No longer runs will I bewail — 

 On this alone shall rest my fame — 



Dirt cheap I hold the Belvoir Vale, 

 This only is crime de la creme. 



My vale, my native vale, I own. 



No longer charms for me retains ; 

 My thoroughbred, fastidious grown, 



A run from Croxton Park disdains. 



Only the Coplow, Cream and Crick 



For me — all others I resign — 

 There let me wield my hunting stick, 



There let my azure breeches shine. 



'Tis past ! 'tis o'er ! just like a dream ; 



In future days my sons shall hear 

 How from the favourite gorse of Cream 



Their father did the honours bear. 



And whilst I tell them all about 



The style in which I made the play, 



Shall Shelton's * merry bells ring onX, 

 " Banks was the hero of the day." 



He was ambitious of distinction in the hunting field, but 

 could never stay to the end of a long run. A Belvoir burst 

 just suited him. His riding has been described to me by one 

 who knew him. " He rode as hard or harder than any one 

 for twenty minutes, jumped all the biggest places he could 

 find, ate a ginger-bread nut, and went home." 



Other well-mounted clergy were Mr. J. Sloane Stanley, 

 of Branston, who married the sister of Mr. Assheton Smith, 



* The Quorn huntsman. " Lord Grey de Wilton. 



^ Living held by Mr. Banks Wright. 



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